


Hey, Mr. Fate Man

by Civilized_muppets



Series: Oh, How He Hated Gold [2]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fake AH Crew, Female Jack, Female Jack Pattillo, Gavin is King Midas, Golden touch, Immortal Fake AH Crew, M/M, Midas Gavin, Midas Touch, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2018-11-21 18:57:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11363574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Civilized_muppets/pseuds/Civilized_muppets
Summary: You've seen what Gavin thought of the crew- but what did the crew think of Gavin?





	1. The Heir

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry guys, I didn’t mean to stay away this long, but I hit serious writers block for the direction I was planning on going for, so I ended up taking it in a whole different direction. Instead of doing a complete backstory for the whole crew, I’ve decided to do a reverse of the original series: Instead of Gavin’s views of the crew, the crews views of Gavin. This way I can still get their perspectives and some of the backstories I had planned for them, but I can still have fun with Gavin himself. I hope you enjoy!

Geoff wasn’t entirely sure if the first time he met Gavin was the first time Gavin met him. 

 

In 1997, when Titanic was the greatest movie ever, gas was only $1.22, the Lion King had just been converted into a musical on Broadway, and Princess Diana had recently met her untimely end in Paris, Geoff (Who was temporarily going by Paul Fink at the time) was in Detroit. 

 

The city wasn’t a shithole back then. It was just like any other major city on the map, with the poor side and the wealthy side as far away from each other as they could get, the middle class preferring to distance themselves from the both of them in the suburbs. Geoff was there to meet with a potential ally: The Corpirate. Looking back, he wanted to slap his younger self in the face for ever considering being allies with that asshole, but Burnie had thought it was a good idea, Gus, even though he was one of his best friends, had been getting on his nerves lately, and Joel was in one of his little “moods” where he laid somewhere in the penthouse on the floor, in his birthday suit, staring at the ceiling and muttering about gold. Geoff took the opportunity presented to him to get out of Los Santos and take a breather. 

 

It was after the meeting, during which Corpirate had made a snide remark about Jack being a “dirty whore” whose only use to the Roosters was to warm their beds and quote “provide a nice little cunt for their dicks to have a crew wide party in after a long day”, and Geoff had sworn that he would die by his crews’ hand for it. (Needless to say, over the next two decades their relationship did not improve.)

 

He was driving around the city, desperately trying to stamp out the urge to go back and kill the bastard,  _ their secret be damned _ \- when he saw him.

 

In any other circumstance, he would’ve been a vision. He had hair that looked like it was liquid gold, his eyes were as green as emeralds. He was young, early 20’s at the most. He was tall, thin, and as tan as the people he was used to on the west coast. His clothes looked like they were designer, his gloves as gold as his hair. Geoff would’ve been interested, if he didn’t look like he’d walked straight out of hell. 

 

He stumbled out of an alleyway, designer clothes slashed to pieces and doused in red, lips bleeding, hair disheveled, eyes wild. He was throwing his head around wildly, seemingly in some kind of shock. Now, Geoff could not, by any means, be called a good person. He had stolen, he had bribed, he had orphaned children. But this kid, whoever he was… he reminded him of his Adelene. She too had golden hair and bright eyes. She too had looked like hell in her dying moments, when her wealthy husband (who Geoff had married her off to in the hopes that she would be taken care of and would want for nothing), had drank too much and beat her to death, when Geoff had been too late to save her. 

 

Realistically, he knew that this kid was none of his business, that the smart decision would be to keep driving, but he couldn’t get his poor daughter’s glassy eyes out of his head, and he pulled over.

 

The kid looked at him fearfully, stumbling back against the wall behind him. Geoff was about to say something to him, assure him that he wasn’t going to hurt him, when a second man stumbled out of the alleyway and pinned the kid against the wall.

 

Geoff had pulled out his gun and shot the man before he even had a chance to think about it. 

 

The man crumbled and the kid just stared at the corpse, seemingly unable to look away.

 

Geoff slowly approached the kid, wraped his blazer around his shoulders, and gently coaxed him away from the body and into his car. He drove back to the hotel that was infamous in his circles for not asking questions, and lead the kid up to his room. He pulled out some clothes that belonged to Joel that had somehow found their way into his suitcase, and gently removed the once luxurious rags the kid had been wearing. The only sign the kid was aware of his surroundings at all was the whimper he let out when Geoff had reached to pull off his gloves. Geoff decided he could keep them. 

 

He cleaned the blood away with a rag, treated and bandaged his wounds (Jack had insisted he learn how even though they would realistically never need to know, and now he internally thanked her for it). He dressed the kid, gave him a sleeping pill, and tucked him into the bed. He left the room and caught an early flight home, thinking he would never see the kid again.

 

He was proven wrong a short three years later. 

 

Joel had had a breakdown, Burnie and Gus decided to move to Chicago with him until they were able to get him back on his feet, continuing the Roosters from there. Geoff and Jack had stayed behind, starting a new crew called the Fakes. It was a joke from a few decades ago, when they all often joked that immortality made them fake people. They had found Michael a few months after the separation, and with him came Ray. There was only four of them, but that was all they needed at the moment. 

 

He saw him in a bar on the west side of Los Santos. Geoff almost didn’t recognize him at first. He hadn’t aged a day, but his designer clothes were intact, his lips were no longer bleeding and were curled into a smirk, he stood confident and tall. If it wasn’t for the golden hair and the bright green eyes, Geoff likely would’ve never known it was same kid. He was chatting up some random guy, leaning all over him and batting his eyelashes. The guy seemed into it, buying the kid drinks and leering at him. Geoff watched them until they left the bar, arm and arm. And then, because he was already going to hell if he ever made it that far, he decided to partake in some stalking and follow them. 

 

The guy took them to his apartment, where he pulled out a gun and shot the kid in the chest. Geoff watched in horror, ready to bust in and kill the bastard, when…

 

He laughed.

 

The kid laughed.

 

He then ran up to the guy, grabbed his gun and shot him in the head. He took his black leather jacket, and walked back onto the street whistling a jovial tune.

 

He was one of them.

 

Geoff tracked him back to his apartment on the east side, waited about an hour, before knocking on the door and making the kid an offer to join the crew. 

 

Jack initially wasn’t happy about him bringing home a stray person, but the kid simply put on a grin, said in the british accent Geoff had only recently learned he had:  _ Gavin Free, absolutely charmed, you must tell me where you got that shirt, love, it’s simply lovely _ \- and suddenly he was her new favorite person. Considering everyone else made fun of her for her hawaiian shirts, it wasn’t too surprising. 

 

Geoff never knew whether or not Gavin remembered their first meeting. The hacker avoided him for a few months, before warming up to him after the Corpirate had attacked the safe house they’d been in at the time, and Geoff had saved Gavin, who was deathly afraid of fire, at the cost of his own escape. The kid never mentioned why he had initially avoided him, or the Detroit Incident as Geoff mentally called it, So the leader didn’t bring it up either.

 

By the time Ryan came around, Gavin had gained a reputation as The Golden Boy, and the underground of the city whispered that The Kingpin had named him his heir, that one day Ramsey would step down and hand the throne of Los Santos to the frontman of the crew. 

 

And one day, Geoff thought, maybe he would.


	2. The Free

Jack had gone by many names in her time on this earth.

 

Originally, she was Jacqueline, a french noblewoman. After the revolution claimed the heads of her and her husband and Geoff (who, at the time, was still stumbling through immortality as a drunk after the traumatic death of his daughter Adelene) took her under his wing, she became Christiane.  _ Follower of Christ. _ The highly cynical version of her that existed at the time thought it fitting, that her name should reflect God when her continued existence could only be attributed to the Devil. 

 

A short few decades later, when she and Geoff had escaped to Italy, she chose Francesca.  _ Free One. _ And on it went. In the 1800’s she was Divna ( _ Wonderful _ , after the nickname Geoff gave her of “woman of many wonders”, which would later become Wonder Woman after the superheroine’s debut in 1942) in Serbia, Roxana ( _ Dawn, _ signifying her beginning to come to peace with her situation), Lyubov ( _ Love _ , a sappy reminder of the relationship between her and Geoff that had just begun) in Ukraine, and Beatrix ( _ Traveller _ ) in Hungary.

 

In the early 1900’s, She was Agnes ( _ Chaste _ , a sarcastic little joke on her part. Geoff found it hilarious, considering he was intimately familiar with the falsehood) in Germany. When the first World War broke out, they moved to the Netherlands, where she became Gemma ( _ Gem _ , after what her father had once called her). After the war, they moved to England, where she was Cecilia. Unlike the others, she hadn’t spent hours agonizing over it. She had merely heard it in the street and liked. (Later, after alcohol, stress, and suspicion had torn her and Geoff apart, she would discover its meaning and laugh hysterically at the irony.  _ Blind _ .) After that, she went back to her french roots and chose Marie.  _ Bitter _ .

 

At the dawn of the second World War, she chose  Renée.  _ Born Again _ . She spent the whole war as a nurse in a general military hospital. After the war was over, she moved to America under the name Kinsey.  _ Victory of the King _ . (She had liked Britain, sue her.)

 

Kinsey Scott ran into Benjamin Jones on the street in Seattle in 1968. 

 

Jack hadn’t seen Geoff in 43 years, but of course neither of them had aged a day. 

 

They had a long, hard talk, and decided that they were better as friends than they had ever been as lovers. He introduced her to Antonio (Gus), Nicolas (Joel), and  George (Burnie). They had started a gang called the Roosters, and invited her to join. 

 

Her best friend was there, how was she supposed to say no?

 

Eventually, she changed her name back to Jacqueline, Jack for short.

 

Geoff celebrated with a cake that had “Congrats I Guess” written in barely legible green frosting on the top.

 

(He could make fun of her all he liked, he followed her example a year later.)

In the year 2000, after Gus, Joel and Burnie had moved to Chicago and she and Geoff ruled Los Santos alone, Geoff burst through the door of the penthouse after a night at the bar at 4 am dragging a blonde twink in expensive clothes behind him.

 

She was about to reprimand him for bringing an escort (a thought she later reprimanded herself for) back to the penthouse, because  _ what the fuck, this is the base of the biggest gang in the city, we have a separate apartment for this exact reason Geoff, what the hell- _ when Geoff started talking. Apparently, the kid behind him was not, in fact, an escort. He was one of them, and Geoff had invited him into the crew. She again began to reprimand him because  _ dammit Geoff, she was supposed to approve them before he brought them here, what were you thinking- _ when the kid decided to introduce himself.

 

“Gavin Free, absolutely charmed, you must tell me where you got that shirt, love, it’s simply lovely-”

 

And he had her. 

 

Jack and Gavin got along exceptionally well right off the bat. Gavin avoided Geoff for the first few months, at least until one of their safehouses was attacked. She never knew what that was about; Geoff always only muttered something about Detroit before walking away, and Gavin masterfully redirected the conversation every time she even got close to bringing it up. (She supposed it wasn’t all bad, it was these redirections that lead to her suggesting he become the frontman of the crew along with being the hacker. If he could do it to her, he could probably do it to everyone.)

 

When a fire broke out in the kitchen, she had been too preoccupied with it to notice Gavin’s reaction at the time, and by the time she turned around she only had seconds to ponder the fact that she could’ve sworn Gavin was holding a glass a second ago before she ran to get the air freshener. 

 

Fortunately for her, Geoff wasn’t.

 

He told her later, after Gavin had retreated to his office for the night, about the of fear in his eyes when the fire broke out, the glass hitting the floor, his rush to clean it up before anyone noticed. 

 

Even though she knew Geoff wouldn’t lie to her after their fallout, part of her doubted him. Gavin had looked perfectly calm when she turned around, standing in the far corner of the kitchen to stay out of the way, even offering to help her remake dinner when all the commotion was over. He was the picture of normal, at least for him. She thought maybe Geoff had mistook simply being startled for pure fear.

 

Until, that is, the attack. 

 

She had woken up to orange, smoke, and heat. She barely had time to grab her gun and run out of the room before the floor caved in.

 

She caught her breath outside, ready to hunt down the bastards that had done this (because it couldn’t be a coincidence, nothing with them ever was), when she saw it.

 

Geoff, running toward the door, dragging Gavin behind him in a sick parody of their first meeting. Geoff, throwing Gavin in front of him and out the door. Gavin, landing about 10 feet away from the flames and rolling away. Geoff, getting trapped inside.

 

She ran to Gavin, who was staring at the house, orange flames reflected in his unseeing eyes. He didn’t respond to her at all, simply kept staring at the collapsing structure before him.

 

Then the screaming started.

 

From both of them.

 

From Geoff, who had no doubt respawned inside the burning building and was burning to death again.

 

And, a second later, from Gavin, who would only cease his screaming to shout  _ I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I never meant for any of this, oh god, child, I’m so sorry _ over and over again.

 

And Jack could do nothing but wrap her arms around him and try to comfort a man who was only there in the physical sense while her best friend dies in agony over and over again. 

 

Two hours later (No one had come to help, this was Los Santos, of course they didn’t), when the house was nothing more than ash and Gavin had finally stopped screaming and had slumped against her, exhausted, Geoff lay in the ashes of what had once been a safe house. 

 

He looked at Gavin first, and made sure he wasn’t physically hurt. Only then did he ask her to shoot him to get rid of the burns. 

 

She, of course, complied.

 

She didn’t know how much Gavin remembered of that night. He certainly seemed to remember what Geoff had done for him, because the cold hostility toward him vanished overnight. He later admitted to them after a night of beer (“Bevs”, as he called it) that he had originally died in a witch burning in the 1500’s.

 

He never mentioned the mysterious child. 

 

Jack knew better than to ask.

 

Later, after Ryan had joined the crew, she noticed the small smirk he wore whenever he or someone else said his last name.

 

Last names had never really been important to Jack. She had always focused more on the first name, the one she would be called by almost everyone.

 

As she watched him burst out laughing at Michael’s shout of “I’ll get you, Free!”, she wondered if, for Gavin, it was the opposite.


	3. The Boi

Michael hadn’t always been an angry person.

 

To be fair, life had set him up that way. He was a poor young lad in the mountains of Scotland, with too many younger siblings, brought into this world by a mother and father who never stopped trying to make their children's lives better, even though they were well aware they would never reach their goal. It was unfair, it was cruel, and he was intimately familiar with the feeling of starving enough to be in agony but not enough to die. He should’ve been angry at everything back then, but he had too much love in his heart for that. He never minded when that nights bread went to his younger siblings and he drank only water with his parents. They needed it more than he did, and he would always prefer the piercing pain of hunger to the tortuous sound of his poor baby siblings cries. 

 

When the Blue Sickness came a knocking and he was the unlucky one who answered the door, his only thought was that he was grateful it was him and not the other members of his family. He died three days after the first ring appeared under his arm, and he thanked the great God above that his death was quick, and that his family wasn’t forced to watch him die for weeks, as some others were.

 

He was no longer thanking him when he woke in a mass grave.

 

After his initial shock, he realized that God must have been merciful, must have returned him to life, to his family from Heaven.

 

Michael initially tried to return home to tell his family of the miracle, only to have his sweet mother slam the door in his face, screaming about how the Devil would not tempt her no matter whose face he wore.

 

And Michael began to doubt.

 

He wandered through village after village, becoming more and more numb with every person he had to leave behind. After a decade had passed and he hadn’t aged a day, he tried to finish what the plague started.

 

It didn’t work.

 

It never worked.

 

Eventually, the numbness in his soul gave way to burning, all consuming fury. He couldn’t say exactly how or when, but one day in the 1600’s he realized that his lips were pulled into a scowl far more often than a fake smile. 

 

It wasn’t half a century before he hated absolutely everything. The people who were foolish to believe that their god was a merciful one. The society that didn’t give a damn about him or anyone else. The nobles who lived their life of comfort without caring of the price their people paid. The ground that his family was probably buried under. The sky above that everyone looked to for a god that, should he exist, would be more aptly described as the devil. 

 

When the Mayflower departed, Michael was on it. He could never escape the sky, but maybe new ground would do him some good. 

 

It was a miserable trip, with the overcrowding and all. When they landed, for the first time in a long time, he was glad to see the sky.

 

Michael didn’t make or join a settlement with everyone. He hated people, he couldn’t die, there really wasn’t a point. Instead, he headed to the woods of one of the islands bordering what would eventually be called North Carolina. It took him a long time to get there, but the solitude was more than worth it. 

 

People eventually came close to him, but he stayed well away from them excluding his few and brief visits to the markets to buy a few things he didn’t feel like getting or making on his own.

 

It was during this period of seclusion that he met Ray.

 

He had escaped from some pirate battle, and he should’ve been dead.

 

He was like Michael.

 

Surprisingly, Ray stuck around even after Michael was the prickliest bitch he could possibly be. 

 

Ray told him later, in so quiet of a voice that Michael didn’t hear, that it was because he was so relieved to finally have someone he didn’t have to worry about hiding his immortality from that he probably would’ve stayed even if Michael had done nothing but kill him in increasingly cruel and painful ways.

 

Michael toned down his anger a lot after that. 

 

They were thicker than thieves, always together no matter what, the ties between them stronger than blood. 

 

They stayed away from people and their wars until 1989, when they rejoined society in New York. Michael became a technician. Ray became an employee at Gamestop, falling in love with video games and the escape provided. 

 

It was in 1995 that Michael became fascinated with explosives, with how much chaos could be caused with a single bomb could cause. 

 

Michael was so wrapped up in his newfound obsession that he didn’t notice that Ray’s video games were no longer enough.

 

By the time Michael realized what was happening, Ray was up to his neck in needles and crack pipes, nose as white as the snow outside their apartment. 

 

Just because they couldn’t die didn’t mean their bodies were impervious to injury. Michael did the only thing he could think of.

 

He shot his best friend to sober him up, and sent him to rehab when he went back to them.

 

By the time the World Trade Center went down in flames and screams and they made the executive decision to move to the West Coast as quickly as possible, Ray was only turning to weed and booze. It wasn’t a total success, but considering the war that had been the past five years, Michael called it a win. 

 

Geoff tracked him down in 2003, having been impressed with his explosives work and Ray’s sniping work, something  _ neither of them had known about the other until that moment _ . It was one hell of an awkward situation. Geoff to his credit, at least looked a little apologetic for the conflict.

 

After a few days of consideration (and arguing), they accepted Geoff’s offer.

 

It was after this moment, that Michael first heard of Gavin.

 

He had heard of the Golden Boy, of Ramsey’s infallible frontman, the man who could topple entire empires with nothing more than a few keystrokes. But  _ Gavin _ , the man beneath the reputation was entirely foreign to him until Geoff’s warning.

 

“Listen, buddy, I know fire’s kinda your thing, and believe me, I have no qualms about you setting this whole damn city ablaze, so long as it doesn’t interfere with what we’re doing, just… not around Gavin. He and fire, well… hey don’t exactly get along. If you fuck with him, even  _ once _ , I swear on Whisky that I will find a way to kill you. Got it?”

 

And when he first met the man, his instincts screamed  _ dangerous _ . This was the kind of man who squashed people like they were ants under his foot. This was the kind of man who ate mob bosses for breakfast. This was the kind of man that could and would destroy him and enjoy every second of it.

 

It wasn’t until later that Michael realized that he hadn’t met Gavin at all that day. He’d met the Golden Boy, and he was even worse than the stories said.

 

Needless to say, Michael generally stayed away from Gavin at first. He seemed pretty cool, but Geoff’s warning rang in his ears every time he saw him. It wasn’t until Jack locked them in a closet and made them have a conversation that he realized how much they’d get along. 

 

Ray would always be Michael’s best friend, but Gavin became his Boi. Gavin was like the annoying little brother that he wished he still had. He knew that the brit could hold his own, but that didn’t mean his brain didn’t yell at him to protect him at all cost.

 

Which lead to The Great Valentine’s Day Bonfire of 2005.

 

It was the anniversary of the day they became friends. Last year Gavin had threatened a movie theater into giving them a private showing of The Butterfly Effect. This year, Michael took Gavin on a joyride of crime before driving them up to the top of Mt. Chiliad.While Michael no longer hated the sky, he wasn’t it’s biggest fan. Gavin, for whatever reason, adored it, especially at night. They had a picnic under the stars consisting of Mcdonald's (Gavin always did adore that kind of humor). They made plans for pranks, Gavin told him stories about England, Michael told him about his work. During a lull in the conversation, Michael began frowning, considering what he was about to do.

 

Gavin, who Michael had believed to be fully engrossed in the stars, was apparently paying close enough attention to notice.

 

“Boi? Is everything okay?”

 

Michael shot him a smile. 

 

“Yeah, Gavvy. It’s just… I wanna try something.”

 

“What?”

 

“You like… really don’t like fire, right?”

 

He didn’t really have any evidence behind his claim beyond what Geoff told him. Gavin had never freaked out in front of him, but then again he had never really been around fire either. 

 

But the way he froze at Michael’s question said enough. 

 

“I suppose you could put it like that.”

 

His voice had gone from Gavin (warm, real, head thrown back laughter, always have your back) to Golden Boy (cold, plastic, wicked sharp grin, just as quick to stab your back as shake your hand). He was no longer dealing with his friend. He was dealing with the frontman of the Fakes, the Heir to the Throne of Los Santos, the man who could ruin the lives of millions in a second and not loose any sleep over it. Michael would have to choose his next words carefully.

 

“It’s just, other crews have taken after us in having an explosives expert on hand, and with you the one negotiating basically all the meetings, and how quickly those meetings could go sour…”

 

“What?” His voice was less guarded now, a little more relaxed. Michael had successfully given him the correct impression that what he was saying came from a place of love and protectiveness instead of maliciousness. They might just get out of this with their friendship intact.

  
  


“I’m worried about you. A fire breaking out at a negotiation is increasingly likely, and while you’re a decent shot, you’re not really trained or equipped for close quarter combat.”

 

He smirked, seeming to find that funny for some reason.

 

“And?”

 

“If a fire breaks out… Boi, I want you to be able to keep your head. And you can’t do that if you keep avoiding fire like the plague.” Oh, the irony.

 

“Hmm… you have a point. What do you propose, love?”

 

Oh no. He only used pet names like ‘love’ when he wanted something. Or when he was about to kill a man. Michael wasn’t just on thin ice, he was on the only piece of ice in the whole damn ocean.

 

“You trust me, right?”

 

The man beside him seemed caught off guard by the question, the golden mask that had placed itself over his face softening a bit. 

 

“...I do.”

 

“You trust me to control my own fire?”

 

The mask softened a little more.

 

“There’s a reason Geoffrey chose you. You’re the best, of course you can control your own fire.” 

 

“You trust me to keep you safe?”

 

At that, the mask softened completely, and he was looking at Gavin again. When he spoke again, his voice was soft, quiet.

 

“Of course, Boi. Always.”

 

“Then let me start a fire. I’ll protect you, I swear on dynamite I will. You can come as close as you want, and no further. Just to see, yeah?”

 

Gavin looked at him for a long moment, searching his face. 

 

“...Yeah.”

 

He must’ve found it.

 

Michael had prepared for this before hand. He went over to a small pile of sticks about 300 feet away from the car. He pulled out his lighter and started the fire. It wasn’t huge by any means, Somewhere between your average campfire and a fire pit. He didn’t dare look back at Gavin, didn’t dare give his Boi any inkling that he was pressuring or that he wasn’t completely focused on maintaining the fire. 

 

He didn’t know how long it was, but suddenly he heard a stick snapping about 20 feet away. His instincts weren’t screaming that he was in danger, and Gavin hadn’t made a noise, so he assumed it was the blonde and hoped he wouldn’t get pushed into the fire and burn to death.

 

He’d rather do that then turn around and startle his Boi.

 

It was another stretch of time before he started to hear Gavin’s breathing behind him. He was breathing hard, as though he’d just run a marathon.

 

“I’ve got it, Boi. This fire isn’t getting any bigger than this while I’m here.”

 

His breathing calmed down a little bit.

 

Eventually Gavin was standing beside him, staring at the flames with an indecipherable look on his face. They stood like that until the stars began to disappear from the sky. Exhaustion finally seeming to catch up with him, Gavin sank to the ground and leaned against Michael’s legs.

 

The ginger looked at him, surprised. Gavin usually hated sitting on the ground, complaining about dirt and grass on his expensive jeans and ‘quality ass’. Gavin’s green eyes were lowering, though he seemed to be struggling to keep them open. Smirking at him, Michael lowered one of his hands from his pockets and began carding through the golden locks. The brit was a sucker for people messing with his hair. It didn’t happen often, but when it did it always ended in him sprawling over whoever had done it’s lap like a content cat. 

 

It didn’t take long for his friend to nod off after that.

 

Michael, who was fairly exhausted himself, sighed before putting out the fire and carrying Gavin back to his car bridal style.

 

While the ride there had been extremely chaotic, the ride back was as calm as Michael could make it. 

 

Geoff raised an eyebrow at them when Michael carried Gavin into the penthouse and into the blonde’s room (which was, quite frankly ridiculous. Really, where the hell had Gavin even  _ gotten _ all this shit in gold? It made him roll his eyes every time he saw it) and tuck him in.

 

Michael rarely saw The Golden Boy outside of business after that.

 

He was glad. His Boi was much happier than that asshole, anyway.


	4. Vav

Ray would probably never admit it to anyone, but there were many times in his incredibly long life that he wondered if he was cursed.

 

He had had it good. He had a loving mother and father, a friendly community, a brother in all but blood.

 

Until that brother literally stabbed him in the  back.

 

He had forgotten much from that time. He no longer remembered his mother's voice, he no longer remembered his mother voice, his father’s face was lost to time, no matter how hard he tried to hold on to the details. He didn’t remember how many people were in his community, he didn’t remember where it was beyond a general area.

 

But he would never forget the sight of that sword piercing through his chest, he’d never forget the traitorous laugh from a man whose face he would never see again in that life, he’d never forget the terrible sound of the blade moving inside him when it was pulled out of his torso. 

 

Ray woke in the woods a few hours later, the only sign of what had happened the blood on the ground around him. 

 

The traitor didn’t make it through the night.

 

His was the first name Ray forgot.

 

He didn’t deserve to be remembered.

 

Ray took a boat after the deed was done and sailed into the horizon. He knew he couldn’t go back home, for he had survived what he should not have and must be one of Xolotl’s children. He did not know where he was going, only that he must leave and never return.

 

So leave he did.

 

He was at sea for a long time, and he’s sure he died of hunger and thirst more than a few times, but eventually he can across civilization again. These people had lighter skin than he had ever seen, and spoke an odd language. He was clearly strange to them as well. But, eventually he learned their language, adapted to their culture, made a story about how he had lived on an island farther south before this, alone. He did not want them to find his people. 

 

He made friends, he integrated himself into their community, he built a new life there.

 

Then, one day, a paranoid old woman noticed he hadn’t aged in a decade, and they chased him off.

 

He didn’t know why he kept trying, it always ended the same way. He would learn the language and customs, he would be happy, and then his monstrosity would drive everyone away or turned them against him. 

 

(In his darker nights, when the clouds covered the light of the moon and not even the animals dared to break the silence, he wondered if the traitor had sensed it too.)

 

The plague came and went, technology improved, the witch hunts swept through the land, the people he’d found began to conquer the world. When he’d heard word of ruins being found where he’d come from that reminded him of his hazy memories, he retreated into the woods to mourn his people. 

 

(He would be alone forever, wouldn’t he?)

 

(Of course he would. Monsters deserved to be alone, after all.)

 

He didn’t know how long he was there, but when he finally gathered the strength, everything has changed, and there was talk of a new world.

 

He decided a change of scenery might do him good. 

 

He wasn’t on the first ship out, he was a few decades late for that. 

 

He stowed away on a merchant ship, hoping to start over in the American colonies.

 

His hope was, as always, dashed.

 

The ship was captured by pirates (who were apparently a thing now), renamed, and everyone on board captured.

 

Those who wanted could become a member of the crew. 

 

Everyone else would go to horrible cells and be tortured for amusement. 

 

Maybe Ray was tired of suffering. 

 

(Maybe he was just a coward.)

 

Being a pirate wasn’t actually all that bad. The Queen Anne’s Revenge was a good ship, the captain was fair to his crew, the riches were plenty, though his crewmates weren’t exactly good people.

 

(Then again, he wasn’t either, was he. He fit right in.)

 

For a short while, life was good. He made some friends, he laughed, he cried, he had fun. He was happy.

 

Of course, the seemingly never ending pattern that made up his life must continue.

 

His tenure as a pirate ended in a bloody battle off the coast of North Carolina, when the ship that had been his home went down in canon fire. 

 

That’s when he met Michael.

 

Michael was like him.

 

Michael was mean and cruel in the beginning. The ginger lashed out at him at every opportunity, belittled him, even went so far as to kill him a few times. But Ray stayed. 

 

(Ray was a monster, why shouldn’t those like him be monsters too?)

 

(It was better than being alone anyway.)

 

Eventually, Ray understood that Michael had been angry at the world for how he was and was taking it out on him. 

 

(He was almost jealous.)

 

Michael warmed up to him eventually. He started to joke with him, to laugh with him, to actually spend time with him, and to enjoy it. He started to worry about him.

 

(A completely foreign concept to him, at the time.)

 

Michael became kind, warm, good. First impressions had been proved wrong. Michael wasn’t a monster at all.

 

(Maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t one either.)

 

They became friends, best friends. They were all the other had. They became codependent.

 

(It wasn’t until 1995 that Ray realized thae codependency had only applied to him.)

 

Video games were helping him to escape from reality, Michael loved his job as an electrician, life was better than he ever remembered it being.

 

Then came the Oklahoma City Bombing, and everything changed.

 

Michael had discovered bombs, and he lost himself in their destruction. He was rarely around any more, he barely talked to him anymore, the only sign he even lived in their apartment anymore was the bomb parts laying on the kitchen table and his hoodie by the door. 

 

Video games had always provided a good escape for him, when life got too down, and when he was feeling better he’d go back to Michael in the living and spend time with his friend. 

 

But there was no Michael in the living room, no ginger ready with a beer and bad T.V, no best friend waiting for him with a grin and a joking insult on the tip of his tongue.

 

(Maybe there never really had been.)

 

Video games weren’t enough any more.

 

(In all honesty, neither were the drugs.)

 

He started sniping to fund his addiction. He was good at it, it made him a lot of money, and he didn’t have to do much.

 

It wasn’t long before Brown Man was known throughout the country.

 

It took a few months for Michael to know what was happening, but when he did, he killed him.

 

(It had been a long time since Michael had done that.)

 

He realized later that he’d been trying to get the drugs out of his system, clear him of his addiction. But Ray hadn’t wanted to be clean. 

 

When it happened again Michael sent him to rehab, visited him every day, fought tooth and nail for him to get better.

 

(Maybe the codependence hadn’t been one sided after all.)

 

They left New York after 9/11. Michael didn’t know why, but it clearly bothered his friend, and so he bought a plane ticket to California and a new apartment and got them the hell out of the city.

 

(Ray would never tell him that it reminded him of the previous worst tragedy America had ever seen, the thing that stole his friend and sent him spiraling.)

 

California was a nice change. The people were friendlier, beaches lined the coast, and there was more than a few people willing to hire a sniper. 

 

(Addiction or not, it still made good money, and he genuinely enjoyed it.)

 

(What sort of monster wouldn’t?)

 

Geoff found them in 2003, and he discovered he wasn’t the only one in the apartment on the other side of the law.

 

It was, by far, the most awkward situation Ray had ever been in.

 

As were the arguments that followed.

 

(How are you supposed to be act when you’re angry at someone but have no right to be because you pulled the same shit you’re mad at them about?)

 

(Yeah, they didn’t know either.)

 

They joined the Fakes a few days later.

 

Ray didn’t know what he was expecting from the most fearsome crew in the city, but what he got definitely wasn’t it. 

 

Geoffrey ‘Kingpin’ Ramsey, the Ruler of Los Santos who crushed his opposition without breaking a sweat, was Geoff, a massive goofball who would say everything was ‘as dicks’, try and sneak food past Jack when she wasn’t looking, and had the best laugh Ray had ever heard. He would argue over Halo lore with him for hours.

 

Jack ‘The Heavy’ Patillo, the Pilot, the Medic, The most terrifying woman to ever grace the streets, was a mother hen who looked after the crew like they were her own, and the best cook whose food he’d ever had the pleasure of tasting, She was a great singer, and she would belt the newest pop song whenever it came on the radio.

 

And then, there was Gavin.

 

Ray didn’t know what to make of him at first.

 

Initially, it seemed the legends of the Golden Boy hadn’t been exaggerated, and he was even more terrifying than they said. 

 

Then everything changed.

 

“Is that Mariokart?”

 

Ray shot a confused look at the frontman. He almost wasn’t recognizable. His designer clothing had been replaced with a large T-shirt (was that Geoff's?) and sweat pants, he was barefoot, his sunglasses were nowhere to be seen. His voice wasn’t the deeper, sultry, high british he was used to, but instead lighter, curious, and sounded less proper than normal, no longer crisply pronouncing every syllable. He wasn’t smirking, his eyes were wide open, he wasn’t wearing makeup. He was, however still wearing his golden gloves. 

 

(Apparently, they went up to his elbow. What a fashion statement.)  

 

“Uh, yeah.”

 

“There room for a player two?”

 

Ray just held out the controller.

 

Turns out, Gavin was terrible at Mario Kart. It was pretty fun, they were playing as dirty as possible (They were criminals, of course they were) and Ray was pretty sure that the blonde had straight up hacked the game when Ray went to grab a blunt. It still wasn’t enough. 

 

The party ended when Geoff walked into the room, saw them, and immediately yelled “Gavin, you british fuck, stop stealing my damn shirts!”

 

Gavin immediately ran down the hallway laughing his ass off, with Geoff chasing after him. Jack, who had been in said hallway, just rolled her eyes and scolded them for running in the halls.

 

It was pretty clear that neither of them cared.

 

They ended up playing Mario Kart pretty often after that, and Ray finally met Gavin, and not the Golden Boy. 

 

Gavin, it turned out was fun to get drunk and/ or high with. 

 

“Raaaaaaaay, Ray. Oh my gods, Ray.”

 

Ray snorted.

 

“Yeah, Gav.”

 

“There are more nipples in the world than there are people.”

 

“... holy shit you’re right.”

 

“We need to tell the fucking woooooooorld, X-Ray.”

 

“Did you just call me X-Ray?”

 

The brit rolled over to face him.

 

“What are you gonna do about it?”

 

“Nothing much,  _ Vav _ .”

 

He just started giggling.

 

And now Ray was giggling. 

 

How long had they been giggling.

 

Wait a minute…

 

“Sweet mother of fuck, Vav,  _ What if the world is in a capri sun and the sun is the hole of the straw? _ ”

 

Gavin looked up at the ceiling with wide eyes, and softly whispered  _ holy shit _ .

 

“Hey, hey, X-Ray. You know that that bloody tosser that pissed Geoffrey off?”

 

“You?”

 

“No, you munge. The fucking- pirate, or whatever.”

 

“Oooooooooooh, that guy. What about him?”

 

“We should fuck with him.”

 

“Why, Vav?”

 

“Because Geoff’s been so busy and stressed lately he’s out of clean shirts.”

 

His friend suddenly rolled back over and threw his arm in Ray’s general direction.

 

“You don’t understand X-Ray. I  _ neeeeeed _ my Geoff shirts. They’re big and comfy and it pisses him off.”

 

“Okay, I have the best fucking idea.”

 

“Go on…”

 

Long story short, they started a gang war that night. 

 

It was the best night Ray’d had in awhile, no matter how much Geoff yelled at them afterwards. Ray was pretty sure it was mostly for show, since the war was pretty much going to happen soon anyway, but whatever.

 

Gavin “Golden Boy” Free, The Frontman of the Fakes, The Best Hacker in California, the Heir of Los Santos, was a fun guy to hang around with. He was a troublemaker and a troll, he sucked at Mario Kart, he stole the Mighty Kingpin of Los Santos’s shirt. He loved terrible music, he was a half decent dancer, he got physically sick at even thought of wet bread. He was silly, he was funny, he made up words that were apparently not made up (the whole crew called bullshit on that one.), he made the weirdest noises Ray had ever heard come out of a human. 

 

He was also sad.

 

He hid it well, but Ray knew the signs.

 

(He had them himself, after all.)

 

Gavin clearly didn’t want to talk, but Ray made sure he knew he could.

 

Gavin was on edge for a week after that conversation.

 

Ray didn’t bring it up again.

 

But, he thought as he kicked Gavin’s ass at Mario Kart for the fuck-knows-how-many- time in a row, if Gavin ever did want to speak up, he would always lend an ear.

 

He may not be the best person, but Gavin was his friend. They didn't agree on everything, of course not, but Ray knew what it was like to feel like you had nowhere to turn. So he would wait, he would be supportive, and if or when the time came, he would do his best to be what Gavin needed him to be.

 

(He wasn’t a monster, after all.)


	5. The Puzzle

Ryan wasn’t quite like the others.

 

Oh, he was immortal of course, and his immortality worked similarly to the rest of the crew’s. He would die, his body would appear back in the last place he slept, like the others did (after their initial death, of course). Except, he got there a bit differently. 

 

As far as he could tell, the others had been born with their immortality. They would live, die, and be stuck at that age for the rest of time. He didn’t know why that happened to them, but that was how it was.

 

He, on the the other hand, wasn’t born with it.

 

He had been a champion gladiator at the height of the Roman Empire. He was the best there was, the people adored him, as did his employer.

 

And, also, apparently, Mars.

 

The god of war was impressed with his skills in battle, and offered him a deal. Eternal Life, in exchange for his services in war. 

 

Who was he to say no?

 

He was one of many agents of Mars. They were a group of individuals handpicked by Mars to assist him in his duty. They went by aliases, (Ryan had chosen Vagabond) and they assisted in wars all over the world (which turned out to be quite large). Ryan didn’t know how many of them there were, but there were at least 8 others. He had worked with one once, a man who asked to be called Edgar, who told him of 4 more. 

 

The first was a woman who was called Phoenix, with bright red hair and green eyes. She was a fierce warrior who took no prisoners and gave no mercy. She was as fiery as her name suggested, with a particular penchant for flames. Ryan hoped he’d never have to meet her on opposing sides of the battlefield. 

 

The second was a woman who went by K. She had short dark hair and bright blue eyes. Edgar told him she was kind and reasonable, with high intelligence and impressive strategy skills to boot. Ryan would like to meet her one day, but when he expressed interest in meeting her, Edgar warned him against it. Apparently she was extremely odd, never leaving her home except when she had to, dressing like a man in public when she did, and never corrected anyone who referred to her as such. Edgar insisted there was something off about her, but Ryan would rather judge for himself, if he ever got the chance. She sounded interesting, and he liked interesting people. They were usually better than the idiots he had to deal with most of the time.

 

The third was a man named James. He didn’t use an alias like the rest of them, which was as unique as it was stupid. He had dark hair and blue eyes as well, and he had a short neck beard. Edgar told him the man was a rash fool, who simply ran into battle without any type of strategy. He seemed to die fairly often. He was a total wildcard, unpredictable, absolutely insane. He sounded like Ryan’s idea of a party.

 

One day, his habit of being drawn to chaotic people was going to be the end of him.

 

Ryan didn’t particularly care.

 

The last, Edgar had never actually met. He heard about him from K, who heard about him from Rimmy Tim (what even was that alias anyway), who heard about him from Zed, who heard about him from Flynt, who had actually worked with him. He used the alias of B, and he was apparently a total nutcase. And not the fun kind. He had left Flynt to die several times during their short partnership, committed multiple accounts of betrayal, loved fire more than Pheonix. He was untrustworthy, he was selfish, and no one had any idea why Mars hadn’t taken him off duty yet. Ryan hoped he’d never have the unfortunate luck to deal with him.

 

The mission with Edgar didn’t go well. Edgar had stabbed him in the back, so Ryan returned the favor by knocking him out, throwing him in a cave 20 feet deep in the side of a mountain and covering the opening with a boulder.

 

As far as Ryan knew, Edgar was still in that hole.

 

Served the fucker right.

 

He asked Mars to never give him another partner again, and the god heeded his request. 

 

For centuries, he traveled far and wide, fighting in whatever war his god commanded him to. He fought in the crusades, helped conquer new lands, personally escorted french nobles to the guillotine. 

 

(Later, he was very glad that Jack had not been one of them.)

 

It was after the second world war that everything came to a grinding halt. 

 

Mars, the god of war, was tired.

 

He could no longer keep up with humanity. The atomic bombs were the final straw for him. Weapons so powerful they could destroy entire cities in a matter of seconds, leaving behind nothing more than ruins, toxic land, and the shadows of the unfortunate souls who happened to be in the blast. Or maybe they weren’t so unfortunate. They died quickly, after all.

 

All, in all, it had confirmed what Mars had been considering for decades.

 

Humanity had become more mighty gods of war than he had ever been.

 

They didn’t need him anymore.

 

Or his agents.

 

So, he asked his agents if they wished to join him in death, or if they wished to remain. 

 

Ryan didn’t know how many had chosen to leave and how many had chosen to stay. He’s sure Edgar had chosen to die. He’d been in that hole for a few centuries now, after all. From what he knew of the others, which, admittedly, wasn’t much, He thought James probably stayed. He seemed like he would be having too much fun to leave. Phoenix and K were unknowns, but he hoped they had opped to stay. They were interesting, after all. Mars had probably gotten rid of B a long time ago.

 

Ryan, of course, had chosen to stay. 

 

He had been fighting nonstop for centuries, constantly going between one war to the other. He was as tired of war as Mars had become. His service in war was done, it was time for him to indulge in some peace.

 

He moved to the U.S after the bombs dropped. He married a lovely woman named Charlotte, a widow with two children whose previous husband had died in the war. They had a quaint little life if Georgia. It was quiet, it was domestic, it was good.

 

Charlotte had been been good to him, and he had always tried to do his best to do right by her. She was kind, funny, and smart. Her children weren’t angels, but they were good kids and they liked him. They had been happy. It was the perfect family.

 

It should have been perfect. 

 

Actually, it was perfect.

 

Unfortunately, perfect just wasn’t for him.

 

He was used to constantly moving, constantly being on his toes, constantly on edge.

 

He was used to war.

 

He had adapted to war, he had become a creature of war, breathed the blood and sweat of the battlefield in place of air.

 

Peace was the ocean to him. He could swim, he could travel, he could even have fun. 

 

But, he could not live there.

 

He had loved Charlotte, truly, entirely, wholeheartedly.  He had adored her children as though they were his own. But he knew that eventually he would run out of air under the water, and he would have to return to war, but he wanted to make the best of what they had for as long as he could. 

 

He wanted to stay with the beautiful southern belle he was lucky enough to call his wife. He wanted to teach his son how to ride a bike. He wanted to teach his daughter how to read. He wanted to watch those kids go on dates, coach his son on how to properly and respectfully ask a girl out (and how to accept her answer if she declined without being an asshole), threaten his daughter's first boyfriend when the poor kid walked through the door. He wanted to celebrate 20 wedding anniversaries with Charlotte, he wanted to watch his children get their diplomas. He wanted to teach them how to drive, he wanted to help them prepare for their own weddings, he wanted to watch Charlotte gain smile lines and the kids become adults of their own. 

 

He never got the chance to do any of that.

 

He could still remember the officer’s words verbatim.

 

_ “Mr. Haywood, I regret to inform you that your wife, Charlotte Haywood, and your two children, Shelby and Vernon Haywood, were hit by a car earlier today. I am sorry for your loss. We need you to identify the bodies.” _

 

Ryan was never the same after that. 

 

He barely remembered confirming that the corpses in the morgue were , indeed, his family. He barely remembered the funerals, the whispers of his neighbors about how  _ even war couldn’t break him, what a shame _ . 

 

Of course war hadn’t broken him.

 

Ryan lived and breathed war.

 

Peace, for him, was only a vacation. 

 

Ryan was unsure how long it was before he completely resurfaced back to reality, but he did know it was caused by a single revelation.

 

He hadn’t been tired of  _ war _ .

 

He had been tired of  _ winning them _ . 

 

He was tired of being the victor. He was tired of the ending being guaranteed from the start. War had become  _ dull _ , a book he’d read a thousand times, a film whose ending had been spoiled long before he ever saw it.

 

Ryan needed a war, but he didn’t need an ordinary war. He needed a war that never ended, a battle that was never truly won, a fight that would never get boring. A race that would never be predictable, a struggle that had raged since the beginning of time and would never stop. He needed a conflict that would be exciting, a war where any gained ground had the potential to be lost immediately.

 

What war was better for him than that between the law and crime?

 

For the first time in a long time, he had to start from the bottom. In the beginning he was simply muscle for hire, but it wasn’t long before The Vagabond was reborn as the best Mercenary in North America. By the 90’s, his reputation has crossed the ocean to Europe, by the turn of the century it had made it’s way the the rest of the globe. 

 

The Vagabond was famous around the world by 2007, when he met the Fakes.

 

They had reached almost as much acclaim he had. Though the war of the law would never be won, if anyone would win it, it would be them. They held Los Santos under their rule, at least half of the cops in the city were on their payroll, and those that weren’t weren't enough to make a difference in the end. They had never been caught, half their names and faces weren’t even known, and they’d been operating for almost a decade. Ryan had respected them from afar, but never planned on getting involved with them. 

 

Until a contract led him into their territory.

 

It was the highest paying job he’d ever received, several billion dollars on the guys head. But the guy was clever and he had nothing to lose, so he had hidden in the one place no one in their right mind would touch: Los Santos, home of the Fakes.

 

Luckily for the guy paying him, Ryan wasn’t in his right mind.

 

Of course, just because he was certifiably batshit insane didn’t mean he was stupid. He did his research on the gang in charge before he even considered the offer.

 

The Fake AH Crew consisted of over 150 people working directly with them, an estimated 500 informants across the city, five main members, and one leader. The boss was Geoff ‘Kingpin’ Ramsey. He had been a core member of the Roosters before they moved to Chicago and he stayed behind. He had short black hair, a beard, a truly impressive mustache, light blue eyes, and a fuck ton of tattoos. He was usually seen in a fitted suit. He generally only carried two guns, relying on those around him to carry more weapons if shit went down. Until the year 2000, he was the frontman, negotiating deals and making threats. He was cold, ruthless, and seemed to have a bit of an alcohol problem. If he was an alcoholic, however, he was a high functioning one, so it probably couldn’t be used against him.

 

His second in command was Jack ‘The Heavy’ Patillo. There wasn’t a single picture of her in existence, but she was described as having short red hair, green eyes, and was usually wearing a tropical print shirt and white shorts. She was the getaway driver, and seemed to be a good pilot. There were also accounts which seemed to allude to her having medical expertise. She had also been a member of the Roosters, but had stayed with Ramsey when they moved. She seemed to carry an average of three guns and a few knives, though she was rarely in the thick of things. She was kind to those she liked, but was colder than Ramsey to those she didn’t. 

 

Mogar was the explosives expert. He had joined the crew in 2003. No one knew his real name outside of the Fakes, but there was one picture of his face. He had red hair and wild brown eyes, the picture catching him laughing maniacally as he blew up a bank. He seemed to usually be wearing a brown jacket with an image of a wolf and the word ‘Lone Wolf’ on the back. Ryan liked his style. He was absolutely crazy, and a genius. More than a few reports told of him building bombs with only what he had around him, using things like cleaning supplies, rubber bands, paper clips, and, in one memorable report, even a tampon he’d nicked from a woman’s purse. He seemed to carry two guns, at least four knives, and multiple explosives and detonators on his person at all times. 

 

BrownMan was the sniper. He’d never been seen, there was no pictures, no video, no name. He seemed to be at least acquainted with Mogar before the crew, since they had both operated in New York before moving to California around, if not at the same time in 2001, and he joined the crew with Mogar in 2003. There was nothing concrete about him, but rumor had it that if you saw a pink rifle sitting by itself on a roof, the BrownMan had left his post to hit a blunt. Ryan doubted it though, as he had never missed a shot. There’s no way someone that good was high while on the job, or abandoned his post. 

 

And then there was the Golden Boy.

 

There were a few conflicting accounts of his name. Some said it was Michael, some said it was Gavin, some said it was Ray. A few even said it was David. His last name might have been Free, since he seemed to be referred to as such on multiple occasions, but he couldn’t be sure. He was reportedly british, with a high accent. He had joined the crew in 2000, and had soon taken over as the Frontman of the crew, He was also probably the hacker of the crew, since every computer the crew hacked into was left blank with the sole exception of a single phrase:  _ All That Glitters. _ Rumor had it that Ramsey was going to hand the city over to him one day.There was one picture of him, only one ever taken, and he was absolutely  _ gorgeous _ . 

 

He was standing next to what appeared to be Mogar, judging by the red hair and brown jacket. He was dressed in a dark blue button up shirt, wearing designer jeans, and gold high tops. Was looking directly into the camera, he obviously knew it was there. One of his golden gloved hands was pulling his gold aviators glasses down his nose to show off his manic emerald green eyes. His pink lips were pulled into a crazed grin, his golden hair flying in the wind. 

 

He was the most beautiful man Ryan had ever seen.

 

It was a shame he’d have to avoid him.

 

Knowing all he could on the crew, he accepted the job and discreetly made his way to Los Santos to kill a man.

 

It went well. The guy was dead, Ryan was a few billion richer, he was on his way out. 

 

And then it happened.

 

Mogar and the Golden Boy raced onto the street he was on, laughing their asses off as they hit and killed pedestrians, smoke and sirens trailing behind them. 

 

He looked even better in person. 

 

And then they crashed, Mogar flying off the handlebars, the Golden Boy managing to abandon the bike before the crash. The blonde brit seemed completely unfazed by the death of his crewmate (judging by the amount of blood on the road, at least), and he simply ran off the side of the bridge and jumped over 100 feet down into the ocean, where he revealed that his Union Jack backpack was actually a parachute. 

 

Ryan watched the parachute descend into the dark water before turning back around to… nothing.

 

Mogar had vanished. 

 

The blood was still on the road, the wrecked motorcycle was still there, but the dead man was gone. 

 

Ryan searched his memory, but could not find a single agent of Mars he had known of that fit Mogar’s description. That didn’t mean anything, though, there were probably dozens of agents he had never heard of. The Golden Boy obviously knew, judging by his lack of a reaction, could even be one himself. Now that he thought about it, Ramsey hadn’t aged a single day since the first picture of him with the Roosters back in the 70’s. Could it be…?

 

Ryan decided to stick around Los Santos a bit longer.

 

Over the course of the next few months, Ryan learned a lot about the crew. He observed almost every one of them die, and then disappear almost immediately. Ramsey and Patillo got shot down, and Mogar crashed again. He still hadn’t seen BrownMan, but he had heard Mogar yelling about the sniper had been taken out and would be waiting back at the base. The only one he hadn’t seen die was the Golden Boy, but he was rarely in the field during heists, instead hacking into their target from the base. On the rare occasions when he was in the field, he was protected at all costs, as his job could not afford distractions. By the way they obviously cared about him, yet that was the very serious reason they gave whenever they gave orders to protect him, the Golden Boy was immortal as well.

 

So, he decided to show himself to them. 

 

After he proved his immortality, Geoff was delighted to invite The Vagabond into his crew. 

 

Ryan was delighted to meet the Golden Boy.

 

It turned out that his name was Gavin Free, and Michael and Ray, the other names he used, were the real maned of Mogar and BrownMan respectively. David was Gavin’s middle name. He was as terrifying as the stories said, and he was the kind of crazy that drew Ryan to him like a moth to a flame. But at the same time he was kind of… adorable. He made bird like noises, he  had an amazing laugh, he lived off of red bull, and he sucked at video games. He never took those gloves of his off, he looked adorable when he rolled out of bed, and he looked good in casual clothing. He had seemed civil enough at first, and Ryan had assumed he was the kind of person who had to warm up to you first. 

 

And then Ryan told them how he started. 

 

Not about Mars (none of them had mentioned it, so neither would he, and eventually he would come to realize that they had never been agents at all), but how he was a gladiator in the roman empire. He told them that one day a colosseum match had gone wrong, and now he was here.

 

It was like a switch had flipped.

 

Gavin went from being civil towards him, not overly friendly but not hostile either, to avoiding him. When they did have to face each other, Gavin glared at him, referred to him only as the mercenary, looked down his nose at him, sneered at him whenever he opened his mouth. It was disappointing, Ryan had looked forward to meeting the Golden Boy for months, and now he’d been snubbed.

 

After the initial anger wore off, he realized what the issue had been.

 

He was a roman gladiator. 

 

It had to be one of those things, for they were the only things he had really shared about himself.

 

Gavin hadn’t begun to hate him until he told him that. 

 

So what was it?

 

It was a mystery, and Ryan had a complicated relationship with those. He would not ask the others, he would not ask the man himself (though he doubted the brit would answer). He would figure it out himself, he swore to his late god he would.

 

He observed Gavin closely, He learned all he could about him. He has dies in the 1500’s in a witch burning, and now had a deathly fear of fire. He trusted Michael and Michael alone to set fires around him. He had no qualms with hurting animals, unless they were cats, but judging by the zoo incident, that didn’t apply to lions. He clearly had no qualms with death and/or murder, and according to a trip they made to a very illegal warehouse in China, slavery didn’t bother him too terribly much (He did have a problem with it, but not enough to cause the immediate and all consuming hatred that had occurred, especially since the gladiators themselves were often the slaves). The gladiator part wasn’t the problem.

 

Which left the roman part.

 

But that didn’t make any sense.

 

Gavin had lived over a thousand years after the Roman empire fell, why would he have any problem with it?

 

Something wasn’t adding up. 

 

After this realization, Ryan began to watch Gavin more closely, trying his damndest to unravel the puzzle that was Gavin Free. But the more he discovered, the more confusing it got.

 

Gavin claimed to have been a peasant in his first life, yet he held himself as though he were a high noble. He claimed to have been born in 1500’s England, yet he knew things from before then. He could understand Latin as well as Ryan could, a fluency which could only be gained by speaking the language on a regular basis. He claimed he’d learned it after Ryan had come along, but that didn’t account for how his accent was perfect. An impossible feat if he had learned the language after it had died. Which meant he was probably lying about when he had lived. 

 

He never took off the gloves, but from what he could tell there was nothing wrong with his hands. They worked perfectly, which meant there wasn’t some form of defect. It was difficult to tell, since the gloves were leather, but his hands didn’t appear to have any blemishes either. It wasn’t a germ thing either, since Gavin had no problem getting down and dirty when the situation called for it, as long as he wasn’t wearing his designer clothes. 

 

He seemed to be obsessed with gold, as most of his possessions were gold, yet he never sought it out. Sure, the others would grab gold watches and jewelry for him during heists, but Gavin never asked for them specifically. In fact, when they gave him a choice, he usually asked for jewels, clothes, or sunglasses. People who were obsessed dedicated a significant portion of their time to the obsession in question, yet Gavin payed almost no attention to gold in his everyday life. 

 

He was different from the others in that he never seemed to actually die. He was immortal, that much was certain, but Ryan had never actually seen or heard of him dying. While the others usually pulled crazy and unnecessary stunts simply because they could, Gavin never risked his life, even though it was eternal. Every time Michael or Ray would ask him to join them on a “day trip”, he would decline, siting work as his reason. Even on that first night that Ryan had saw him, When it would have more sense to stay on the bike and die with Michael, both in the interest of not getting caught and saving time, Gavin had gone out of his way to avoid death, abandoning the bike and jumping off the bridge into the ocean, carrying a parachute on him at all times when it shouldn’t be necessary. If Ryan hadn’t found several images of him throughout the decades, never aging between them, then he would wonder if the man was immortal at all.

 

He asked Geoff about it once, but the man just shrugged and said “Kid doesn’t like pain.” The other members of the crew offered similar answers. Ryan would have taken that as truth and moved on, except for one teensy little problem.

 

_ Gavin couldn’t feel pain at all. _

 

The whole “Doesn’t like pain” theory fly out the window as blow the window up with way too much C-4, demolishing that whole side of the building when Ryan witnessed Gavin  _ absentmindedly stabbed himself with his pen  _ and didn’t realize he’d done it until he needed it again and he realized it was _ sticking out of his thigh. _

 

The instances of Gavin’s imperviousness to pain kept adding up now that Ryan knew what to look for.

 

There was the instance he had stepped on a thumbtack and didn’t realize that it was in his foot until he actually saw the thing and discreetly removed it while Ray was distracted by a video game.

 

There was the time he had gotten shot on a heist and didn’t realize it until he saw the blood on the front of his shirt. He laughed it off, saying that it was the security guard’s, but Ryan had seen it happen. 

 

There was the time he walked right over broken glass and didn’t notice it until he saw the blood.

 

Ryan once saw him _literally_ _get impaled_ at the bottom of the cliff. The blonde simply sighed, pulled his body off the spike, take his shirt off and wrap the open wound with it, steal some random guy's shirt, and act like he’d made it to the bottom of the cliff safely, claim that he’d gotten caught up because he’d seen a guy on the beach with a _“pretty watch, look at it Geoffrey, doesn’t it just sparkle?”_

 

Ryan had been watching him the whole time. 

 

Gavin never nicked a gold watch.

 

He had nicked a silver one though.

 

It was then that the wild, crazy, ridiculous theory began to take hold in Ryan’s mind. There was no way, but… it made sense.

 

Gavin was older than he claimed to be, as old as Ryan,  _ at least _ . He had been a noble of some time. He wore golden gloves constantly for no apparent reason, he owned things in gold that should be literally impossible to get. He seemed obsessed with gold on the surface, but didn’t follow a normal pattern of obsession. He didn’t like to die but was obviously immortal, and the supposed reason didn’t actually make sense. He had nicked a silver watch and produced a gold watch for an excuse. 

 

No, there was absolutely no possible way.

 

But Gavin hated him because he was a Roman. If he was what Ryan thought he was, he would have a pretty good recent.

 

Rome had not been kind to Greece, after all.

 

Gavin only solidified this theory when Ryan heard him swear “Oh my  _ gods _ .” The others didn’t seem to notice, but Ryan knew the significance of that little s. He also heard him muttering about Geoff’s drinking, cursing Dionysis under his breath.

 

The Roman version of the wine god was Baucus. 

 

Dionysus was the Greek term.

 

Gavin was a Greek. 

 

It certainly explained a lot, such as why he hated Ryan, but what it did not explain was why he lied about it. 

 

The crazy theory was getting more and more likely with every new piece of evidence Ryan uncovered, but he refused to give it the time of day. It was ridiculous, it had to be.

 

Then came the closet incident. 

 

Jack shoved them in a closet, demanding that they talk and put aside their differences. Ryan initial plan was to either wait it out or acquiesce to Jack’s request (maybe he might make some progress on the whole ‘Gavin hates him’ problem), but then he actually looked at the man.

 

He was… scared.

 

Ryan didn’t know if the problem was the closet, the situation, or just him, but he had never seen Gavin actually scared before. 

 

Staying in the closet wouldn’t earn him any points with Gavin. 

 

He still had a gun on him, though Jack had done her damnedest to take all his weapons. The best way to end this as quickly as possible was for one of them to die. 

 

But Gavin didn’t like to die, and Ryan still didn’t know why. 

 

Which left him.

 

So, he did the most logical thing: he shot himself in the head to get out of the closet, and gave a Jack a subtle warning to not do it again.

 

She gave up and getting them to get along after that. 

 

Gavin remained the most frustrating puzzle it seemed Ryan would never solve.

 

Ryan was a little ashamed to admit that every now and then, when he was frustrated with his lack of progress, he would put the picture of Gavin that had caught his eye on the dartboard and throw darts at it, analyzing every feature he landed on, trying to see if he missed something.

 

Now that he thought about it, it probably didn’t give off the best impression, but whatever. 

 

And that was how it went for months. Gavin continued to hate him (and, now knowing the reasons, Ryan couldn’t exactly fault him for that. If their roles had been reversed, Ryan’s sure he would hate him too. He just wished he would get the chance to talk to Gavin alone, so he could try and improve their relation.) Ryan continued to make no progress in the Mystery that was Gavin Free.

 

Until, one day, he made a breakthrough. 

 

Gavin was in his office, the door was ajar enough to see him sitting at his desk. Ryan wasn’t sure why he’d stopped to look at him, but he knew something was about to happen. Gavin was hacking, there were dozens of empty red bulls cluttering his desk. He hadn’t left this room in four days except to get more red bull; he was probably exhausted. Ryan stood there for a few minutes, wondering what he was doing, when the most incredible thing happened. 

 

_ Gavin took off his glove _ .

 

His hand was normal, there shouldn’t be anything wrong with it. It also looked like he had a manicure recently, probably done himself judging by how he hadn’t left the penthouse in over a month. His nails were painted a sparkling gold color, almost as though they were made of the metal itself. But all in all, it was a normal hand. There still wasn’t a likely reason for Gavin to be constantly wearing gloves.

 

And then he took that perfectly normal hand and ran it through his hair.

 

And suddenly that normal hand wasn’t normal anymore.

 

Gavin’s hair, which had previously shown his three days in his office clearly, was revitalized. The gold color has brightened, the dirt appeared to he gone, it looked like he’d just finished getting ready for the day.

 

He grabbed a can of red bull and it turned to pure gold.

 

He picked up his pen and twirled it, gold running up the plastic from his fingers until the pen was as gold as his hair and the can.

 

And then Gavin realized what he’d done.

 

He quickly grabbed his glove and put it back on, glancing wildly around. He realized the door was ajar, and quickly ran into the hallway.

 

Fortunately for him, Gavin was still exhausted, and Ryan was good at hiding in the shadows. 

 

Gavin ran back into his office, threw the can and pen in his trashcan, threw said trashcan out the window, and immediately went to bed to get some sleep.

 

Ryan, of course, barely registered any of this.

 

His wild, crazy, ridiculous theory suddenly wasn’t so crazy anymore. It had all but been confirmed. 

 

_ Midas. _


	6. Sequel Upadate

Okay, I've been asked this a lot, so I'm just gonna lay it all out for you guys here.

THERE WILL BE A SEQUEL.

It will be called Polaroid, and It's going to be a bit different than what you're used to from me. 

It's not going to be a string of oneshots with a common theme. It's going to be an actual multi-chaptered fic, and it's going to be a long one. 

The problem is, well, shits about to get real. This is going to be complicated. I have an amazing idea for how it's going to go, but if it's going to work every chapter has to be perfect. Which means the whole fic has to be completely planned out, complete with a finalized outline, certain pieces of dialogue that have to be exact, certain characters have to have character sheets so I know what I'm doing. All before I even start writing the first chapter. It's not going to be easy, but I'm dedicated to bringing you guys the best that I can possibly give you. I love this AU, and I want to do it justice. 

Now, this is already a massive undertaking. If I didn't have anything else going on, with revisions and stuff this might take me a month.

Unfortunately, I do have other things going on.

School starts next week, and I don't know what the actual fuck I was thinking when I decided 5 honors classes and 1 AP class was a good idea, but I'm stuck with that decision. It's going to be rough, I'm not going to lie. In addition, I'll finally old enough to get a job on September 4th (happy sweet 16 to me!), so I'm most likely going to be doing that, and I'm going to be volunteering, and my little brother's is going to be born in October, so... I'm sorry to say this, but the new fic very well might be my Christmas gift to you guys. I'm going to try to get it out before then, but it's a delicate situation. I'll be posting updates on my tumblr (If you didn't know about it, it's https://www.tumblr.com/blog/gavinmidasfreeau. I'm always willing to answer any questions you might have about the series!) 

Also, I don't usually use a beta, but I really want to get this next part right, so if any of you would be up for the job, let me know and we'll talk about it.

I'm sorry for the delay, but you guys are awesome and I want to give you the best that I can. 

~Liza


End file.
